


Astronomy in Reverse

by Li Prouvaire (LiProuvaire)



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Biphobia, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Non-Binary Jean Prouvaire, Trans Character, Transphobia, Weddings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-07 12:39:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5456810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiProuvaire/pseuds/Li%20Prouvaire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Combeferre agrees to be Grantaire's fake boyfriend. Things don't go quite as expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mrymidon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrymidon/gifts).



> Written for esregs for the Les Mis Holiday Exchange 2015, hope you like it!  
> Endless thanks to my beta and light of my life, jehanfleur.

Combeferre liked routine. Not the idea of a duly consistent way of life, exhaustingly the same day after day. No, he liked the small bits of routine in his life that made him stop to appreciate the little things. One of them was friday afternoons, with the cafe and Grantaire. Sometimes Grantaire would drag them outside, insisting on whatever adventure his mind had conjured up, an intoxicating air about him, or maybe Combeferre would burst in through the cafe with enthusiasm cursing through his body, immediately filling his friend in to the newest field that captured his interest, showing him facts and curiosities that made his eyes shine as if the mystery of life itself had just been shown to him. But mostly they stayed like they were that day, the table clearly divided between one side of colourful chaos with strewn markers and pencils, randomly dusted pencil shreds and eraser crumbs, and another side with two piles of carefully organized and neatly kept books bursting with page markers.

"Grantaire, I know you don't like these situations, but it's your mother's wedding. You know she won't let it go if you don't attend." Combeferre said gently, eyes moving up from his textbook to look at his friend sitting on the other side of the cafe table. The young man had long stopped his sketching, hands twitching too much from the disquiet in his mind, his hair falling like a halo of unrest around his face.

"Ugh yeah, I know..." he mumbled, focused on the multicolored dirt that gathered under his fingernails. "But jesus, my mom and that guy are going to just melt on eachother as usual and then they'll become a single weird gross entity of suburban goo, spreading the word of our lord and saviour, the new butter dispenser they got last week or... whatever, really. And I'll sit there doing my best not to drink myself into oblivion as they try to set me up with a bridesmaid's cousin. Oh, it will be so much fun, I'm sure I'll remember it for the rest of my life." he sighed and finally looked up at the taller man. "I want a cigarette now. Why don't you smoke Ferre, I spend way to much time with you for someone I can't leech on for a smoke."

Combeferre snorted softly at his friend's teasing, but ignored his attempt to redirect the topic. "Why don't you go with someone? It could relax you, maybe it wouldn't be so bad."

"A plus one doesn't really mean a significant other, trust me, they still wouldn't leave me alone."

Grantaire leaned back into his chair, running calloused fingers through his hair as he watched the rain tapping against the window, brows furrowed and lips pursed.

"I can always pretend to be your boyfriend, if you want." Combeferre supplied with a small chuckle, before looking up at Grantaire, who wore an overly straight face. Combeferre knew that face, and that face was not a good omen. His friend's expression fluttered with something he couldn't recognise, almost akin to bashfulness.

"You'd actually do that?" he asked.

The question hung in Combeferre's brain for a short but seemingly endless moment. Grantaire had a tendency to render him unable to deny him anything, but to say the odds for this to go well and leave his heart unmangled were low was to be a fool.

"If it helps, sure?"

"Well, yes, jesus, Ferre, it would, you fucking genius!" He blurted before he gestured at the space between them. "Could we... pull it off though? I mean, would it even work? Have you ever looked at the pair of us?"he chuckled nervously."Would anyone even buy us as a couple? I spend most of my time looking like I walked into Jackson Pollock's temper tantrum, and you're... well, you're you."

"Wow, I'll try not to feel offended by that."

"You wear sweater vests." Grantaire deadpanned, and Combeferre let out a long-suffering sigh as he carefully marked his current page and set the book aside.

"Come on, we're close friends and we spend a rather large amount of time together anyway, we can just say we fell in love, it's not that implausible. Happens all the time." he said, adjusting his glasses on his nose. Grantaire seemed to consider this for a moment, his thumbs fiddling against eachother before he stilled completely.

"Well, alright then, if you say so." he said as he started gathering his things and dumping them into his backpack.

"Alright, what?"

"Let our farse begin, my friend! I'll text you the details, now I gotta run for dance class." he said before bending down to hug Combeferre's neck and running out of the cafe as he shouted "You're the best fucking person in the universe, how the fuck are you even real?"

Combeferre groaned and let his forehead drop onto the table.

\-----

The wedding was set out to be a truly grandiose thing. A ceremony in the morning and a celebration going well into the night, ostentatious even if the bride and groom had decided to keep the guest list to family and close friends. The problem for Combeferre was that not only would he have to attend the long party pretending to be Grantaire's boyfriend in front of his family, he'd also been invited to stay over for the preparations, adding an entire day to their enterprise. The whole affair was revealing itself to be much more than Combeferre had ever bargained for, and his stomach clenched when he thought of leaving home and being thrust into the social interaction that would inevitably come from all of this. But he was a man of his word, loyal to a fault, and he trusted that at least Grantaire's presence would help him through it just like he was intending to help his friend. Quid pro quo, in a way.

"I swear, Ferre, as much as I appreciate your newly obtained impetuousness, this endless dance you're doing could be completely avoided if only you were to be honest about how you feel." his flatmate's voice broke through the silence, and Combeferre turned towards where they stood, leaning against the doorframe in an unusual languor.

"It'll be alright, don't make a mountain out of a hill, Jehan."

"You know what I'm talking about." they said, in an ominous tone that never failed to rattle him.

"I do, and you know that's not happening." Combeferre replied grimly, pointedly not looking up at his friend as he stacked folded shirts into his camping backpack.

"You're such an old fool and you haven't even reached middle age yet, it's almost impressive." Jehan commented in a voice torn between pity and amusement. Combeferre snorted softly.

"Don't you love having a flatmate that matches your hoard of vintage clothing?" he quipped.

"You are so lucky you're a charmer." Jehan shook their head and a smile blossomed on their face, lighting them up from within. "I should go write something... Don't forget to pack your hormones, dearest."

"Already did" Combeferre assured them, instinctively mirroring Jehan's smile. The poet's care and joy were infectious and a soothing balm to Combeferre's constricted chest. "Please take care of yourself while I'm away, okay? Don't forget to drink water. Do you have your meds alarms set? I left some leftovers in the fridge for you, if you don't feel like cooking." he went through his mental checklist, making sure he left the house and his friend taken care of before leaving.

"Yes maman, I'm going to be good, don't worry." they taunted. The mutual mothering was a common routine in their relationship, and one they both pretended to suffer through, but in truth made them truly content. They were family to one another and it was a gift they held preciously. "Have some fun for me, will you? And behave. Badly." their grin turned a little wild before they enveloped him in a tight hug and disappeared back into the hallway.

Combeferre chuckled to himself as he packed the rest of his things into his backpack, and as his hands worked, his mind drifted. Jehan, though well-intentioned, was a romantic and naive person, biased in their relationship with Combeferre to realise the true depth of what they implied. They failed to realise that having feelings for Grantaire didn't automatically equate to Combeferre having those feelings returned to him. In the most logical setting of events he could conjure, it implied in fact having to see the artist's face contorting into surprise, disgust and pity, and that was not a road he was willing to tread. It was simply the logical thing to do. He was contented by staying on Grantaire's side as his close friend, a confidant at best and nothing more.


	2. Chapter 2

The house was a suburban building an hour or so away from the city, a beige old-fashioned structure that looked vigorous and homey, with potted plants scattered through the porch and the silhouette of a huge half-built tent peeking from the back of the house. Combeferre steeled himself, adjusting his glasses nervously before ringing. When the door opened, it revealed a small olive-skinned woman in a casual but elegant ensemble, an energetic and restless air about her. She had straight chocolate coloured hair, and a roundness of cheeks that were completely unfamiliar, but as he looked into her eyes he couldn't help but recognise the greyish blue of Grantaire's.

"Hello there! You must be Combeferre... I'm Camille, it's so nice to meet you!" she welcomed, a big but vacillating smile on her lips. Combeferre gathered himself and smiled back politely, shaking her hand when she offered it.

"Oh, you must be Grantaire's mother, it's lovely to meet you too, ma'am."

"No no, none of that, we don't call me ma'am in this house, I'm Camille alright? But yes, I'm the mother! Come in, sweetheart."

"Ferre!" Grantaire's voice rang as he stomped through the house and finally appeared at the door, immense relief obvious in his face. His forehead was shining with beading sweat and he was wearing a black paint-streaked tank top, and Combeferre did his best not to stare. "Hey babe, do you need help with that?" he asked, gesturing towards the backpack on his shoulders before planting a gentle kiss on his cheek.

Combeferre couldn't help but to blush and shoot him a naturally besotted smile, glad for once for the cover their ruse provided. "Nah, I'm good, darling."

"I'm so glad you're here, come on, let's put your stuff in our room." Grantaire quickly wrapped his fingers around his and dragged him up the stairs.

"We're staying in the same room?" he asked as soon as they were out of earshot.

"Oh, yeah, she's a  _ cool _ mom" Grantaire smirked.

There was a narrow hallway decorated with flowery wallpaper and a ridiculous amount of framed pictures, and Combeferre could swear he could see one of Grantaire's paintings on the far wall as they darted through it and into the bedroom. It was unexpectedly spacious, resembling more a suite than an actual bedroom, with its tall bookshelves, a couch and large windows that bathed the room in light. Grantaire's presence could already be felt, in the strewn workout clothes on the floor and there were art supplies in nearly every available surface. "Sorry about the mess..." Grantaire murmured, passing by him and trying in vain to make things neater.

"It's alright, R." he said kindly as he removed his backpack. "Your mother seems pleasant."

"Yeah, she's pleasant enough..." he ran a hand through his already messy hair. "Hum look, it's weird but I might as well get it out of the way. There's only one bed, so I'll take the couch, because I am a true gentleman and I already dragged you into this whole ordeal so you deserve it."

"Oh, no, absolutely not-"

"Not up for discussion, Ferre, it's the least I can do." he smiled a little. "Come on, it's just one night."

Before Combeferre could refuse, Grantaire's mother's voice rang from downstairs. "Boys, the flowers are here, come help out with the arrangements will you?"

They exchanged a glance, slightly annoyed on Grantaire's end and amused on Combeferre's, and headed to the office, which was now full to the brim with dozens upon dozens of flowers, a kaleidoscope of roses, peonies and baby's breath. It was an allergic nightmare come true.

"You're absolute sweethearts, thank you so much for helping." Camille said as she laid out a couple of extremely detailed drawings on the table. "Here are the diagrams for the arrangements, they're pretty simple, but call me if you have any questions okay? There'll be cake as a reward for you, my saviours!" she beamed at them before messing the curly top of Grantaire's head, who instinctively flinched, and trotting out of the room.

The scent hung, sweet and full, like a caress between them as they worked in silence, side by side. The golden sunset light glowed around their hairs, giving them an oddly ethereal quality. Everything seemed as if removed from reality, and it made Combeferre's heart swell with the temporary bliss of hope.

Grantaire, having finished all of his arrangements, distracted himself by fashioning small crowns with the flawed cast out flowers, a small smile on his lips. It was an oddly gentle picture, and one that wasn't privy to many. Grantaire was a cynic, a devil's advocate who thrived on taking anyone's arguments and making them crumble, looking the person in the eye as they watched their broken beliefs slip through his fingers like sand. He was ruthless and wild, but he was also capable of the most overwhelming acts of kindness... He was magnetic in a way Combeferre couldn't begin to put into words.

"Hey, Ferre, look at me." Grantaire requested.

"Yes?" Combeferre turned toward him curiously.

His reply were Grantaire's hands flying to the sides of his face, quickly but effectively tucking two stems of baby's breath behind his ears.

"Who knew Ferre, you do rock the flower child look. Very handsome." His grinning lips had summer in them, and Combeferre felt his cheeks heating up and had his hands been holding anything he was certain he would have dropped it and made a spectacle of himself. Not that he was that far from it. He mentally collected himself before speaking and smiling back in a way that hopefully came out as casual.

"Hum, I must admit I always wanted to traipse through the wilderness like in Midsummer Night's Dream, but..." he started, before picking a couple of stems from Grantaire's small pile and tucking them gently into his friend's curls. "...I think you'd be the most wonderful Puck." 

In the darkening room, the man looked like a truly fierce creature, majestic and undomesticated. When he chuckled, it only added an air of mischief to it. "Thou speak'st aright, I am that merry wanderer of the night." 

"I jest to Oberon and make him smile" he added, chuckling, and then he dared to wonder aloud, "Hm, I wonder who I’d play."

Grantaire observed him for a moment, one eyebrow raised as his eyes roamed Combeferre's face, making him self-aware but not in an uncomfortable way. There was no judgement, just wonder, as if Grantaire was piecing together a puzzle, but short of the last pieces. He took a breath, and a soft smile on his lips.

"Oh, isn’t that obvious?"

Combeferre only had time to look at him in confusion before Camille's shrill voice rang through the room, a knife cutting through the haze of their shared dream.

"Dinner is ready, my angels!"

Grantaire looked at him with an unreadable expression in his eyes, and Combeferre had to look away, swallowing dryly. They walked silently to the dining room, and right before they crossed the threshold, he felt Grantaire’s fingers slipping through his. It was time to keep appearances.


End file.
